


Wrists Like Steel

by dirtbag



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 19:22:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7400530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtbag/pseuds/dirtbag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How do you know what kind of vibe my dick gives off?"  Keith asks.   </p>
<p>"Gut feeling," says Lance, and pats his stomach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrists Like Steel

**Author's Note:**

> mood music https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7zfdX7BWCE8

"Anyway," says Lance. "Enough about me. Has anyone ever told you that you give off some real small-dick vibes?"

Up to this point, it's been a typical weeknight. Keith came by Lance's room about a half hour ago, and he's been polishing his weird knife while Lance gets his sheet masks in order and brags about whatever comes to mind. 

"How do you know what kind of vibe my dick gives off?" Keith asks, looking up from the knife.

"Gut feeling," says Lance, and pats his stomach. "I'm never wrong."

He expects Keith to get all hoarsely indignant, like he does when Lance refuses to acknowledge his wild claim that the two of them are friends. Instead, Keith just scowls and reaches for his zipper.

"Whoa," says Lance. He's suddenly seeing a lot more of Keith's underwear than he'd planned to when he woke up this morning.

"What?" Keith asks, pants halfway down his thighs. He frowns like he has no idea what's weird about this. Maybe he doesn't. "Put up or shut up!" 

For the sake of things not being awkward later on, Lance knows he should put a stop to this. He knows, but something about Keith's awful face in that moment ignites the eternal flame of competition that burns in his soul.

"You're on," he says, and they get lost in the scuffle of popping buttons and unzipping flies and flinging pants across the room. 

A few seconds later, Lance looks over at Keith. They're down to shirts and boxers now, a little way apart from each other on Lance's bed. Keith's boxers are too loose to reveal anything about his situation, not that Lance checks. 

"You go first," he says. That way, if Keith ends up having a monster cock, he can cut and run without too much damage to his pride. 

"No way," says Keith. He folds his arms. "Both at once."

"Fine," says Lance. "On three. I'll count."

Keith nods. Lance takes a deep breath. 

"One, he says, and grabs his waistband. 

"Two." Keith does the same, and silence stretches out between them until Lance has stalled for as long as he can. 

"Three," he says in a rush, and he and Keith stand up to yank down their boxers in almost perfect unison. Lance looks over and is confronted with the reality of Keith's dick, right out there in the open. 

It's not a monster cock, but it also isn't tiny. It's just kind of there, soft, uncut, and medium-sized. Same as Lance's. 

Lance looks back and forth between them, hoping a clear size difference will suddenly manifest itself. 

"They're the same," Keith points out. 

Lance, who isn't about to lose this far into the game, tries to think of any reason why that might not be true. 

"Uh, yeah, but I'm a grower."

"Me too," says Keith, in a way that suggests he may or may not be familiar with the term.

"Bullshit," says Lance.

Keith doesn't answer, but his eyes dart up to Lance's face and then back down. Lance's mouth feels dry. 

"Let's settle this," he hears himself say, without much input from his brain. "Right now."

Keith shrugs, and Lance watches him wrap his still-gloved hand around his dick. He can't help but feel that Keith is being pretty cavalier about this whole thing. 

Trying for the same kind of attitude, Lance reaches downward as nonchalantly as possible. The two of them sit there for a while, dicks in hand. 

"This is too weird," Lance says after a few unsuccessful attempts to psych himself up. "Don't look at me." 

"How do you know I'm looking at you unless you're looking at me?" Keith asks, which is a good enough point that it makes Lance uncomfortable.

"Shut up," he says. "Let's just close our eyes."

"Okay," says Keith. 

Lance shuts his eyes. His first few strokes are slow and tentative, but then Keith lets out a suspiciously loud breath. In the interest of not being left behind, Lance jerks himself faster. 

At first he'd worried that that he wouldn't be able to get it up under such unfavorable circumstances, but he quickly discovers that this isn't an issue. In fact, he's hard in record time, which is a real accomplishment given his previous records. 

Keith's been quiet since that first breath, so Lance decides he's within his rights to check for foul play. Either Keith had the same idea or he'd just never closed his eyes in the first place, because Lance sneaks one eye open only to see Keith staring straight at his junk. 

"Dude!" Lance yelps, squeezing himself too hard in his outrage. "What are you doing?" 

"Looking at you, I guess," says Keith. His hand is still on his dick. Heat burns across Lance's face and punches right into his stomach.

"That's not fair," he says, weakly. "I didn't agree to a peep show."

"You're hard, though," says Keith.

"Whatever!" Lance says. His face still feels hot, but it's probably just the flames of competition. "Let's get this over with." 

When Lance looks down at it, Keith's dick is just as hard as his. Lance tries not to think about the fact that it got that way while Keith watched him jerk off, but it's difficult. 

"They still look the same," says Keith. Lance is really getting tired of his little observations, but he's right. Even like this, there's no noticeable size difference between them. 

Keith keeps glancing down at their dicks. "We could," he says, and Lance watches in what he wishes was horror as Keith gives himself a quick stroke. 

"Oh my God," says Lance. 

"Whoever comes first loses," says Keith. As if Lance couldn't guess the rules by himself. As if Lance already agreed, as if Keith is so confident in his own victory that he doesn't mind getting a head start. To Lance's chagrin, his dick twitches in his hand. 

"Fine," he says, and drags his fist up the length of it in what he hopes is a calm and cool manner. He's looking straight ahead but he can still feel Keith's eyes on him, watching like some kind of dick-hawk. 

Lance's pride won't let him look over, but his imagination helpfully fills in some of the blanks. He thinks about Keith's face, that stupid expression, his entire range of stupid expressions. His hands, one wrapped around his cock and the other one clenched up in Lance's sheets. It's too hot in this room. If Lance looked over, Keith would be sweating, awful stupid hair stuck to his neck with the moisture if he just—

Keith lets out a quick startled exhale, and Lance's resolve crumbles. He looks over and Keith is watching him again, eyes half-open, horrible teeth sunk into his horrible bottom lip. His eyes are half-open. 

Lance's stomach lurches the same way it does when his lion flips in midair, and his hand speeds up without his permission.

" _Fuck_ ," he says, "You're the _worst_ , you— "

Keith's brows knit together. He's tense all over, one arm braced on the bed behind him as he strokes himself. Somehow, Lance can't look away. His eyes catch on Keith's knuckles, his wrist, the way his dick strains in his hand. He knows that he won't last much longer like this, but he also knows that he'd rather trash all his moisturizers than admit defeat at this point. 

Lance is a decent strategist, and he's not above playing dirty if the situation calls for it. All things considered, it's positively logical for him to reach out across the scant distance between them and make a grab for Keith's dick.

It's hard and warm and Keith makes a soft noise through his clenched teeth when Lance presses his thumb right up underneath the head. Lance has been around the block, pornwise, but the way Keith's body shudders as his cock leaks precum is maybe the dirtiest thing he's ever seen in his life.

Instead of calling Lance out for cheating, Keith tips his head back until it thumps against one of the bedposts. 

"Lance," he says breathlessly, like he wants this. Like he's been waiting for it. He doesn't follow that up with anything else, just grabs the sheets tighter. His eyes are fixed on Lance's hand as it works him over. 

"Fuck off," says Lance. He's too focused on the task at hand to sound as annoyed as he should. 

There's no reason for any of this this to feel as high-stakes as it does, but the anticipation of release expands inside his chest until he can barely force in air. Keith is wetter every time he strokes upward. 

"You're so stupid," Keith says. The look he gives Lance is nothing like how rivals should look at each other, too hazy and too soft. Lance's wrists are cramped and his dick aches and his heart won't stop pounding. 

Keith reaches out, gets one hand around the nape of Lance's neck and pulls him forward.

"Holy shit," says Lance, "what are you— "

The collision of teeth and spit and faces that comes next is answer enough. It's a sloppy enough kiss that it should be kind of disgusting, but Lance's dick doesn't get that message. All it takes is one sweep of Keith's hot tongue across his molars for Lance to make a startled noise and shoot all over his own hand. 

For some reason, Lance coming all over himself like a failure is what seems to really do it for Keith. He groans and spreads his knees wider, like he wants Lance in between them.

"Are you gonna," says Lance as he pulls back from the kiss, spreading moisture around from Keith's slit with his thumb just to hear the way his breath hitches. "C'mon." 

In this as in all other things, Lance has a hard time keeping his mouth shut, but Keith doesn't seem to mind. His eyes squeeze shut as he makes the loudest noise Lance has heard from him yet, and then there's a whole lot of wetness dripping down between Lance's fingers. This brings his grand total of disgusting cum hands up to two, but he only has himself to blame. 

"You cheated," Keith says. He sounds winded. "And you didn't even win."

"Yeah, well," says Lance. His face hasn't stopped burning yet. It's only through years of experience that he's able to force some semblance of bravado into his voice, but Keith doesn't need to know that. Keith better not ever find that out, actually. "Get you next time."

**Author's Note:**

> im on [tumblr](http://prismos.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/goodboyshima).... thank you for reading but also i apologize


End file.
